


his reverie

by A_Salieri



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AtsuHina, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Salieri/pseuds/A_Salieri
Summary: It varies, but there's a pattern: His day always starts with Hinata's huge, expressive doe eyes directly above his, a couple of inches apart, amber irises reflecting against his own.There was none of that. Atsumu woke up, and it was by the scent of the rain....Or Atsumu submitting to whatever Hinata can give him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	his reverie

Atsumu still cannot figure out what it means— the little, misleading somersaults happening inside his chest whenever he sees Hinata sleeping beside him. It's comforting as well as constricting, warm yet suffocating, it's like he's trespassing, seeing something he's not supposed to. It's like the figure on the bed doesn't quite match the puzzle he had constructed himself, or that he just took it into his own terms and placed the piece there, not minding if it fits or not, just to close the gap.

In the random days where he felt truly at peace, it was when he's alone. When Hinata is working overtime, half past nine. It was then he could think, he could look at nothing in particular and see something somewhere in the string of city lights that seem to bounce back on his brown, soft worn-out eyes.

He remembers how Hinata would bulk-buy from the supermarket, how he would have to throw out cartons of spoiled milk inside the fridge because both of them cannot drink it. He visualizes the untied shoelaces, the brief flick of Hinata's head to the opposite direction as he bent down to tie it for him. He hears, recalls the instances when he would call him by his name, and Hinata would look just a little bit above his irises, before blinking and focusing on him.

Atsumu thinks about it. How he feels like every single thing he does is illegal, unwanted. How he feels like he's just overreacting, but no. It's the smallest things he notices, things that Hinata does not bother to cover up, it's the things that keep creeping up on his back.

It's when Atsumu called him a dumbass and his eyes told stories he had never heard before. It's like breathing life to a dying star, and Atsumu detests himself for making that comparison.

-

Atsumu wonders— what would’ve happened if he spoke up.

The glow of that day has been particularly different. It was soft, calming, quite unlike the mornings Atsumu was used to. The scent of early breeze mixed with the traces of the rain last night, everything about it unsettled Atsumu, made him quite uncomfortable. He’s not the type to pay attention to these things, but somehow he did. For no reason, perhaps, he has always been perceptive. Maybe it’s just one of those days where one becomes hypersensitive of their surroundings, he doesn’t know. All he knows is it’s sitting at the back of his mind, and won’t leave.

Orange haired figure resembling the sun hiding itself behind the cover of the clouds, dozing and relaxing. Pre-warmed toast and scrambled eggs, since that’s all Miya Atsumu can make with his god-forsaken hands. Scarf wrapped warmly around his neck, a gift for his birthday last October, bright red and fuzzy. Memories accompanying the fabric, familiar hands wrapping it around him as he bent down, brown eyes focused on someone, _someone._

A tap on the end of his shoe against the floor, and he was out.

Work that day was okay. Nothing’s new. Office mates having another party at the end of their shift, Atsumu wants to know where they get the energy for even doing those things every night without fail. Dealing with people already is exhausting, everything else blurs out for him.

Walking down the pavement, Atsumu’s phone vibrated.

The text reads: _Are you coming home, Atsumu-san?_

A puff of fog released from the blonde's chapped lips, today is definitely more chilly than the past few days combined. Maybe it will snow.

_Not yet, but I’ll be in thirty minutes._

-

Warm gush of air embraces him as he opens the door, putting down his keys into the key holder clinking against another set. Removing his outdoor shoes, dirty with mud and dust, placing it just before the first step into the house, besides another pair much smaller than his. Unclean as well, must’ve gone to the supermarket.

The waft of homemade food enveloping his senses as the balls of his feet glide against the tiled floor, shoulders slipping out of his coat and an arm hanging it lazily at the nearest chair.

“You’re home, Atsumu-san.”

“Yeah.”

As silent as the first snowflakes of the year landing outside on every surface possible, Atsumu walked over and wrapped his arms around the man standing in front of the stove. Nose snuggling against the smaller one’s nape, inhaling serenely just like a child.

“Missed me?” chuckled Hinata.

Atsumu grunts in reply.

-

Dinner was served unceremoniously, two of them just sitting side by side at the dinner table. Quiet clinking of utensils, occasional loud chews while eating the hot food in front of them were the only noises that can be heard. Soft breathing, exhales and inhales but Atsumu’s heart cannot be at peace even with all of this. 

“Say, Shou-kun.”

“Yes?”

Taking a deep breath, with the unconscious drumming of his fingers against his thighs, Atsumu opens his mouth.

“Why—”

He abruptly stops.

Sensing his reluctance, Hinata set down his spoon and looked at him straight in the eye. “Atsumu-san?” 

“Nothing.”

Instead, Atsumu wolfed down another serving of curry. Delicious.

Neither of them were ever a fan of spicy food.

-

The clicking of the door roused Atsumu from his nap. Snow continued pouring throughout the whole night enveloping the whole city in a carpet of white. Stretching his back to get rid of the numbness of his body, Atsumu rose, still freezing in the nostrils even inside the comfort of his home. Wiping his tired, worn out eyes of sleep, focusing on the figure right outside the door.

“Welcome home, Shou-kun.”

A chaste kiss, as he stood up and helped carry the paper bags slinked against the smaller one’s arms, wondering what they were for.

Removing his own drape of cloak, Hinata ruffled his own hair, bits of snow against orange falling down, down the floor as Atsumu stared. Slightly trembling, as he removed his outdoor shoes, a bit messier than what he always does.

Atsumu opens his arms, and Hinata looks up at him.

Smiles, and surrenders to the warmth.

“I’m home, Atsumu-san.”

-

Inside the paper bags are winter clothes. Assortment of colored coats, woolen mittens and blankets, to keep oneself warm. A blue scarf folded neatly at the bottom.

“Is this for you?” Atsumu mused.

Head lying against the man’s chest, trying to fit two burly bodies into the comfort of their old sofa, creaking slightly— Hinata raised his gaze from his fumbling hands to the material between Atsumu’s fingers.

“No, I bought it for you.” He said softly as he turned away, fingers resuming to tangle up with each other.

Atsumu held the scarf above his head. It was pretty.

Very pretty if it wasn’t for the color.

He shrugs as he wrapped the scarf around his neck all the same.

It was warm and soft, just like a summer’s day.

“Thank you, Shou-kun.” Whispered he to the man breathing lightly on his chest. It’s just a color. A familiar one, something he had seen a couple of times before, a unique shade of blue that belongs to someone.

Too close to his comfort.

A ghost of a smile against his shirt, Atsumu relaxes and tenses, concentrating on the warmth he has in his arms that doesn't seem to spread in his body.

-

It's this. The small things gathering— it was there. Hiding just beneath the blinding exterior stacking up on him and making him extra conscious of every single thing that it drives him crazy. Somewhere between the tight hugs that never reassured him, something in the bruised lips from kissing and the paintings of supernovas against pale skin, a bated breath before every mention of an _i love you too,_ it was there. Present and looming over him, fueling his insecurities, his doubts so eminent it has a physical form, claws for hands scraping, probing over every chink in his armor.

Still he continues. A stone deep in his stomach, a bit heavier with each passing day, he continues to love.

Coming home tired, his outdoor shoes travelled a step or two into the living room before Hinata would go down and pry them gently out of his feet.

Four steps, six days. The kitchen, in a month.

Couple more, he lies down on his bed, laces still tied and shoes at the edge, with no one to take it off but him, just like his coat that sits around his shoulders.

On days where Hinata would not be home on weekends and Atsumu wakes up to the food on the table that comes with silly post-it notes of silly pick-up lines that slowly become replaced by cup noodles and a simple note of _sorry._

Times when he'd come home drunk and Hinata would take care of him, that never changed. Except for the fact that Hinata stayed silent this time, not questioning anything from where he had been at two am in the morning, and if there is anything he should know about, something any lover would normally ask after a night out.

When he would complain of a migraine and Hinata would kiss him on the forehead, one that was so soft, caring, and hesitant.

(Atsumu notices that split-second of Hinata's breath framing his eyelids before he truly leans down.)

Hinata is there, just there— letting these things fall into their respective places like he did the first time, the first time Atsumu noticed that there is something wrong.

-

Atsumu wonders what would've happened if he just spoke his heart. That he's not okay with it, that he wants to be seen as him, as Miya Atsumu, and no one else. How he prefers tuna, how his favorite color is red, how he hates milk because if he just doesn't know, if he doesn't remember, if it's like that— if this is the reason why he kept doing all of those things (deliberately or not) during the years then maybe Atsumu could accept it.

Maybe it could help ease his mind, and maybe he could love himself more.

Hinata hugs him that night, warm and small and familiar. That puzzle piece that he took for his own, it's reminding him that everything he's done so far is okay. A fraction that is not supposed to be there— inside his arms, a heartbeat he's not meant to hear, a warmth that is not his to feel— it's just there. Like all the things that keeps him awake, things that made him question himself, amongst all the bad and the sad was him. His orange hair visible just above his chest, illuminating every single shadow he has of himself.

But it wouldn't just stop there.

Days would come and go and Atsumu would experience more. More of the cold he felt that day when he woke up, he suddenly realized why that day felt so wrong.

The window is open. The first morning of the first snow of the year, Hinata woke up earlier than usual.

He let the air in, still humid and heavy with the scent of the rain still lingering in every respire, through his half-closed lids, a bit unconscious from his sleep, Atsumu lifts his head just a bit over his pillow, looking straight at the figure by the terrace.

The glow of that day has been particularly different. It was soft, calming, quite unlike the mornings Atsumu was used to.

The mornings he was used to was more of a slight kiss on his temple waking him, or the whiff of fried bacon overwhelming his senses. Sometimes it was the voice of Hinata, accompanied by gentle taps on his shoulder, coaxing him to get up, reminding him of the things he had to do for the day.

It varies, but there's a pattern: His day always starts with Hinata's huge, expressive doe eyes directly above his, a couple of inches apart, amber irises reflecting against his own.

There was none of that. Atsumu woke up, and it was by the scent of the rain.

> _Atsumu would face a lot of rainy days, in between there will be good ones, when Hinata truly sees him as himself and he knows there's nothing he would want more than this._
> 
> _There would be tons of hard-bound books of stories in Hinata's eyes and he would embrace all of it, no questions asked. He would learn to accept that he will never know its contents because it's not and never will be for him to know._
> 
> _He would settle for it. He would adapt._

**God knows it was not what he deserves, but it is the only one Hinata could give him.**

**Author's Note:**

> this work is for chan, thank you for listening to my rants during one of my lowest lows. also read her atsuhina fic, "round and round we go." it's beautiful :)
> 
> thank you for reading and giving this fic a chance. feedbacks and kudos are appreciated from the heart. ^-^ ♡


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